A moments interlude
by Guber
Summary: Clarice is stranded, and found by a mysterious man. She has lost her memory. meanwhile she has this feeling that she knows her saviour, and she is drawn to him. what will happen once she remembers?


AN: First of all, many thanks for my ever faitfull betareader… You did a fantastic job.

Secondly. Quotes in my story are from the following; Marcus Aurelius The meditations, mrs. Dallaway and Dantes Inferno.

I hope you will enjoy this full story, it has been awhile since my last story.

**A moment's interlude **

Accidents happen, as was the case with Clarice Starling. Her first trip outside the States was a cruise to England, of all places. Had she been asked why she chose to journey there, she would not have been able to give an answer. She felt drawn there, and she could not figure out the reason why, nor did she really care that much about it.

As was typical of Clarice Starling's life, accidents were plentiful. Having the cruise ship, she happened to be vacationing on, grounded and thrown overboard as a result of its collision, and, in the end, stranded on a beach one not-so-hot summer's night, should not have came as a huge surprise to the once, bright star of the FBI. She did not remember how she ended up on the beach. The last thing she remembered was the cold water everywhere around her. She did not remember being carried to a mansion in the strong arms of a man she had spent her life chasing.

---

He looked at her from the shadow of the room. She was a goddess in his eyes, even lying there in his bed with what seemed like a serious blow to her head. When he first came upon her lying on the beach, bathed in silver moonlight, he could not believe his eyes. His archenemy, his muse, his most enjoyable playmate, was lying helplessly in the sand. Clarice Starling was unconscious, and, as he drew nearer, he was not sure what to expect. He gathered her in his arms, carrying her back to his mansion, situated not far from the beach. He dried and clothed her in one of his own silk pajamas and placed her on his bed. He had returned to the dark corner of the room near the door, watching her for hours, until dawn came.

He returned downstairs, informing the maid of their house guest, and stressed the point that she should be treated with every kindness. She was important to him. She was pure life to him, though the latter he kept to himself. He had to go to work.

---

She awoke not knowing where she was. Her first thoughts centered on the room, it seemed strange, and then what hit her even harder, she could not remember anything, not how she got there much less who she was. She wanted to get out of bed, but a sudden fit of dizziness hit her with full force and she had to lie back down. She could not fight the despair that hit her next.

She was distraught about not remembering anything at all. He had come to her room, or at least, what she had started thinking of as her room. It had a large, four poster bed up against the wall opposite the door. On one side there was a huge window with a window seat that overlooked the most beautiful garden she had ever seen. That night, when she had panicked, a maid had come into her room, trying to settle her down. That had calmed her somewhat, but it still hadn't been enough. In the end, the maid had said that she would contact the master of the house. He was a doctor; he would probably have the answers she was looking for. Shortly after, the master of the house had arrived and now he stood in the door looking at her, his hand resting on the door handle.

"Good evening" he said with his deep voice. She was instantly drawn to his eyes, the strange color that glowed in the semidarkness, drawing her in deeper and deeper. She felt she knew him; there was a familiarity about him. She wonder if he was her friend or perhaps her husband... could they really be married? The maid had not acted like she was the mistress of the house, so they could not possibly be married. The maid had mentioned that he was a doctor, so perhaps he was her doctor. That could not, however, explain what she was doing in this beautiful mansion.

"My name is James Irving" he spoke as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He moved with such grace, he oozed of being a gentleman, carrying himself with authority. He came and stood by one of the bedposts.

"I am sure you have a lot of questions," he said, staring intently at her. "May I?" He gestured to the side of the bed. She could only nod. James moved, and to her it seemed like he flowed over the floor to her bedside, where he eased down onto the bed, a hand resting in his lap, the other being used to support his weight.

For a long moment no one spoke.

"Where am I?" her voice rasped.

James's head cocked to the side. "You are at my home," he stated simply, not revealing any emotion.

"How then did I get here? Why can I not remember anything? My name? Where I come from? Why is it all gone?" the questions rushed out of her.

James was at ease, not taken aback from the rush of questions.

"I came upon you lying on the beach. You appear to have a concussion, nothing alarming. Memory loss is quite normal, and I am confident that it will return to you over the next couple of weeks." He paused. "Doing everyday things, will, I am sure, bring you back your memory."

Two more questions lurked in her mind.

"Have we ever met before?" she paused. "I have this sense that I know you." The question hung in mid-air. James did not answer right away, but opted to observe her a moment longer.

"We are old friends," he said, his voice deeper that before, filled with emotion.

"Old friends," she echoed. "Then you know my name?" She felt that his eyes were digging out the innermost part of her.

"Yes," he answered. Before continuing, he took a deep breath. "Your name is Clarice Starling."

"Clarice," she said, tasting the name on her lips. It was filled with the same familiarity as was his presence. "What else?" she continued.

James smiled, showing off his white teeth. "Perhaps that should be for yourself to find out." He stood to leave, then, as if he had something on his mind, he turned, took one more look at her, before heading for the door, closing it behind him. Clarice was left in the room, her mind desperately trying to put the pieces together. She knew him, she was sure, but she could not put her finger on the nature of their relationship. There was something about him, though, something that was drawing her to him. Clarice leaned back against the pillows. She had this urge to explore her surroundings, wanting to find out more about the man that had saved her. James, she said to herself. Somehow the name did not fit the man. She wanted to trust him, but at the same time she had the feeling that he was hiding something from her.

Clarice threw the bed covers aside, testing her feet on the ground putting weight on them. Then she opened the door and the sheer size of the house hit her, the staircase was far away, and there were several rooms. Music was coming from somewhere, and she wanted to find out where. She followed it to a door that was left slightly open. Someone on the other side was playing a piano. She opened the door so that she could peer inside. The walls were covered with bookcases, making her believe this was a library. To the left was a huge window, and before it was a piano. James sat playing it, the most beautiful music she ever could remember hearing. She went into the room, not making a sound, not wanting to disturb him playing. Clarice thought he hadn't noticed her in the room. Had she been able to remember, she would have thought of his heightened sense of smell. James decided not to let her know, he wanted her there, not asking questions, simply enjoying this beautiful piece of music.

James did not want to admit it, but he wanted this to last. He wanted to be able to be close to her, not the FBI agent that forever would pursue him. Clarice was all woman, in this moment he knew would not last. For that moment, he just wanted to be a man, nothing more and certainly nothing less.

James knew this would not last. He knew that she would regain her memory, and, when she did, he would have to leave this life behind. It irritated him thinking about it. He had found a place where he was somewhat at peace, where no one chased him or wanted to feed him to well trained pigs. He had made a life here as James Irving MD. He was a respectable doctor, well liked by the community and he could enjoy the culture here. Clarice had a way of getting back into his life, at the least likely times, yet he craved her, like the desert craved water to sustain life. Clarice was an oasis to him.

James had not noticed that he had stopped playing, nor had he noticed that Clarice had drawn nearer to him. "You play beautifully," her voice was like a gentle breeze near him, tempting him.

He turned on the bench and said, "Thank you." He yearned to touch and kiss her, to simply be near her. She was breathtaking, even standing there in pajamas and robe, her hair tousled. It was the pajamas that made him think that he should buy her some clothes. He would enjoy shopping for her.

Clarice interrupted his line of thought. "This is a beautiful mansion." She looked around the room, every bookshelf looked to be filled with old books. She wanted to know if that was the case, and went to one of the floor to loft shelves, picking out a book and looking inside it.

"It's Dante's Inferno," James said from across the room. The title stirred something inside her, but she could not keep the fleeting memory. He walked over to her, taking the book from her hands. _"And as is he who unwills what he willed, and because of new thoughts changes his design, so that he quite withdraws from beginning, such I became on that dark hillside: wherefore in my thought I abandoned the enterprise which had been so hasty in the beginning." _

His voice, so filled with emotion, was trying to tell Clarice that who he had been, what he had done, was still part of him, but he no longer journeyed down that path. He knew that she would not understand, not now. Perhaps she would remember his words later on. He dared to hope in that moment.

"You know the book by heart?" Clarice asked.

His eyes bore into her, "I remember everything." The moment stretched on until finally James spoke, "I must go." He took her hand, letting his lips touch her skin, then he left without another word.

Clarice remained in the room for a while longer. The scent of him in the air was almost intoxicating. Clarice did not understand her feelings towards him, how her heart fluttered every time he was near. He had taken the book with him, leaving an empty space on the shelf just like the one in her mind. She felt there was more beneath the surface and briefly struggled to grasp its meaning, but gave up when all she had for her trouble was a headache.

---

When Clarice awoke the next morning, she found her room filled with boxes in different sizes. Sitting on her dressing table was a vase filled with the darkest of red roses. She saw a white note lying there as well, and she could not stop herself from rushing over to read what the note said.

Clarice

I hope that you will find the gifts to your taste.

It would please me if you would join me for dinner tonight at 8 p.m.

James

Clarice looked around the room not knowing where to start. The thought of having dinner with James, set a fire in her soul that she did not understand.

Some hours later, Clarice had unpacked most of the boxes and had found the most beautiful dresses, nightwear, walking suits and shoes for every occasion. James had even given her jewelry, that matched every piece of clothing. He seemed to have a taste for this sort of thing, Clarice thought. Dinner tonight, it seemed so formal. She looked around her again, trying to decide which dress she should. wear.

---

James stood in his bedroom wondering. It was slowly getting darker outside. The moon was full and the stars were bright. Would he finally have his romantic dinner with Clarice? He knew it would not be long before her memory would return. In such cases, it would normally return within a week. He walked over to the window looking out at the garden. Soon he would have to leave this place, but he wanted to finish the dinner they began some years ago. Had he only had more time back then, had she only answered yes to his question? He was not a man of regrets, life was too short for that. However, somewhere inside himself, in his memory palace, he would always regret not having all the time in the world with her. Clarice was his Beatrice, therefore, perhaps he would never have her. He wondered which dress she would put on. He knew she would look stunning in every one of them.

---

Clarice entered the dining room. She was a vision for the gods. The satin dress caressed her figure, the deep cut showed her cleavage, and was even lower down her back. James had hoped she would pick this particular dress, reminding him of that night. The scar from the bullet was still visible. James thought of that, and her actions that night, as proof that she had feelings for him. Deep feelings. Love.... rang loud in his head. Yes, he thought, love.

Clarice was nervous as James came towards her. He was dressed in black tie, looking absolutely stunning.

James greeted her, taking her hand and kissing it. This time, electricity ran through Clarice's body, making it impossible for her to speak. James guided her hand to his arm and led her to her chair. As he pulled out the chair, he spoke to her, his breath warming her neck. "You look absolutely stunning." James took his seat as well.

During dinner they talked about books, architecture, plays, operas even nature. Not once during the evening did they talk about Clarice or James Irving, or how they came to know one another. James wanted to enjoy the moment, make it last, make it all that, it wasn't the last time.

Clarice felt a stirring in her mind, like this had happened before. She sipped her wine, looking across the table at the face of a man, she felt she knew, yet could not place. Her memory rang with the familiarity of the situation... the dress... even the food. Her thoughts drowned out what James was saying. She was taken back to four years ago, to a dinner table much like this one, except there was someone missing. Hannibal.... Hannibal Lecter filled her head... pictures, conversations, feelings and the disgrace. Clarice let nothing show on her face. She could not explain it, but she wanted the moment to last. She wanted to find out more about him, the man behind the mask, so to speak.

Hannibal Lecter noticed the change in her. "Is something the matter?" he asked, showing his white teeth.

"I think the wine might have gotten to my head," Clarice answered smoothly.

Hannibal got up from his chair. "I apologize. I should have thought about it sooner. Would you like for me to escort you, to your room?" Again he was the perfect gentleman. Clarice nodded her consent.

He steadied her as she got up. The feel of his jacket against her skin, sent shivers down her spine, making her dizzy for the briefest of moments. Hannibal put his arm around her waist to make sure that he would catch her, if she fell.

They made their way to the master bedroom, Hannibal lowering her onto the bed. He lingered for a moment, wanting nothing more than to kiss this goddess before him. Instead, he stepped back and stood by the window. The garden was illuminated by the moon, giving a silver cast to everything. Hannibal repressed a sigh, there was so much he wanted to say, yet never would be able to.

Clarice looked at Hannibal, what a strange world it was, she thought. Never in a million years would she ever have dreamed that she would feel attracted to him... a criminal, a cannibal. Well, she admitted, a criminally _handsome_ cannibal. She could not picture him eating human flesh, which gave her a comical view on cannibalism. She wanted to feel his warmth, have him hold her. Her body flushed at the thought of his kiss.

"Would you take me for a walk in the garden tomorrow?" Clarice was not sure that it was her own voice that had asked the question. Hannibal turned his head looking at her. "I have looked out the window every day seeing this beautiful garden, I would love to see it," she said, wanting to somehow break the barrier between them.

"Of course, it would be my pleasure."It was only a moment before he continued, "Are you sure you would be up to it?"

"No," she answered, "But I would like very much to do it just the same". Hannibal could do nothing but smile.

"Always the fighter," he said before he could stop himself.

Clarice looked curiously at him. "Perhaps," she countered.

"Until tomorrow," Hannibal said, starting towards the door.

"Goodnight...... James," the latter almost like a challenge. It made Hannibal stop in his tracks. It was all he could do not to look back at her, his mind working with the possibility that she knew. "How much does she know?" He asked himself. He walked out, silently closing the door behind him.

---

Over the following days, Hannibal and Clarice walked in the garden during the day. Hannibal took his time explaining many facts about the plants, flowers and statues in the garden to Clarice. He relished the time they spent together. Peace filled his soul. A peace he had not felt since the death of his sister.

Clarice, on the other hand, enjoyed getting closer to the man, that she had spent most of her life pursuing, yet knew so very little about, though she had to pretend that it was James Irving she was getting closer to.

Clarice tried not to think about the feelings that were rampaging throughout her body every time she thought of him or was near him.

They dined together every evening, the food was pure heaven, and everything was just so romantic. Clarice let herself relax, sending her mind on vacation. After all, what would it matter if she turned him in today or in a week? All she had to do was keep up the act, letting him think that she could not remember anything at all.

Clarice did not question her behavior. She did not want to look into that place, deep within her soul, where she wanted to spend time with him. Perhaps it was the freedom of not having to be Clarice Starling, FBI agent. To Clarice, it was a reprieve, being away from the job where she was so unwanted. After she killed Buffalo Bill, she did not think she could possibly be more disliked, but she had thought wrong. She felt the cold censure and rejection every time she went to work. Clarice was not a quitter; she would endure it, because there had never been another option... until now. No, she argued with herself that would never happen. He was a criminal... she was a cop. Clarice could not stop herself from entertaining the idea of them together traveling the world, exploring the feelings they had for each other. But it would never happen, because Clarice Starling would return, their game of hide and seek would start again. It was the way of life, perversely so, because, in spite of everything, Clarice enjoyed it immensely.

---

They often spent time in the library, where Hannibal would play the piano or read to Clarice. Clarice loved every second of it. She loved listening to his voice when he read, or watching his hands as they moved over the black and whites of the piano. When she lay in bed at night, she believed she could spend her whole life just doing that. There was not much contact between them... a kiss on the hand, her hand on his arm... It was exhilarating and every minute seemed to be filled with anticipation. Clarice had never in her life been more alert, her senses more keen than she was at this moment in time.

One evening when Clarice was in the library, she stumbled upon a book called _Mrs. Dalloway._ Clarice wanted to read more. She opted for the comfortable looking leather chair that sat in a corner. It was mid-afternoon when she started reading it. One part in the book stood out to her, and it had struck home in more ways than one.

"_But to go deeper, beneath what people said (and these judgements, how superficial, how fragmentary they are!) in her own mind now, what did it mean to her, this thing she called life? Oh, it was very queer. Here was So-and-so in South Kensington; some one up in Bayswater; and somebody else, say, in Mayfair. And she felt quiet continuously a sense of their existence and she felt what a waste; and she felt what a pity; and she felt if only they could be brought together; so she did it. And it was an offering; to combine, to create; but to whom? _

_An offering for the sake of offering, perhaps. Anyhow, it was her gift. Nothing else had she of the slightest importance; could not think, write, even play the piano. She muddled Armenians and Turks; loved success; hated discomfort; must be liked; talked oceans of nonsense: and to this day, ask her what the Equator was, and she did not know._

_All the same, that one day should follow another; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; that one should wake up in the morning; see the sky; walk in the park; meet Hugh Whitbread; then suddenly in came Peter; then these roses; it was enough. After that, how unbelievable death was! — that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all."_

It might as well have been Clarice Starling that Woolf had described, it so suited her life. She hated and loved her life at the same time. What was she without the agent attached to it? It was her life, what she had to offer, her gift, perhaps even her curse.

She had been in this mansion for a week now. A week filled with more meaning than she had ever experienced before. God! How she wanted it to last. At that moment Hannibal walked in, obvious to Clarice's presence. He walked over to a shelf and put a book back. Then, softly mused, "The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n."

Hannibal sighed, as he pushed the book back in its place on the shelf. He did not leave the spot where he stood, suddenly aware of another presence in the room.

"Good evening, Clarice," he said, his voice almost seductively low. Clarice looked intently at him, the shadows hiding her emotions well. She never doubted for a moment, that even though Hannibal could not see the emotions passing over her face, he would know. He had an amazing ability to do precisely that, like he knew her soul.

"I have been reading," Clarice started, not knowing why she said it. She held up the book for Hannibal to see. "I am rather enjoying it." That hung in the air, like she wanted to say more. Clarice returned the book to her lap, touching the worn pages with her left hand, almost caressing it.

"I am glad," Hannibal answered, not quite knowing what he should say. He could not help feeling a bit irritated with himself, he was never left speechless, NEVER! This past week, Clarice continued to have this effect on him. Perversely, he was enjoying this new experience, a chance to discover new areas of his psyche (mind).

He wanted nothing more than to be in her presence, let the sun, she was to him, warm his face, his soul, and make him alive again.

"_It is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles; if you do not know your enemies but do know yourself, you will win one and lose one; if you do not know your enemies nor yourself, you will be imperiled in every single battle,_" Hannibal suddenly said. After a pause he continued, "Do you know yourself, Clarice?"

Clarice could have sworn there was resignation in his voice. She could not answer him right away, because did she really know herself? There was only one answer she could come up with. "I do not know."

"I think you do," Hannibal countered, the game was on, he was on to her.

"Do you now?" Clarice did not want to answer that question. Hannibal took a step closer to her.

"Yes," he said, dragging out every syllable, which sent shivers down Clarice's spine.

"Well then... perhaps you should tell me what you think I know?" she had to bite her lip not to add Dr. Hannibal Lecter with venom. He was about to ruin this peace that was between them, and that was the last thing she wanted. She resisted the urge to stand up. His eyes bore into hers, challenging her to say more.

"Quid pro quo, my dear doctor." This time Clarice could not suppress her smile. Perhaps she was going insane, but she was enjoying herself. She had missed the mind games.

"Hmm," Hannibal said in his cultured voice. "Perhaps you do not remember as much as I thought." He moved to stand close to her chair, effectively blocking her from getting up. He stared down at her. As he was looming over her, with his sharp white teeth almost glowing in the room, Clarice felt a little scared. This time there were no bars to stop him, no police force to come to her rescue. Clarice was not sure she was up for this sort of game. How much was she willing to offer up to this man? What was the price of her soul, when it came down to it?

"_Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness."_

"Perhaps it is time for me to retire. I must excuse myself, I am not good company tonight. I bid you good night. Please excuse me." Hannibal Lecter ended their conversation abruptly heading for the door. He did not hear her quiet response.

"Good night to you, Dr. Lecter." Clarice wanted more; she wanted it to end differently. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps she had already ruined it. Would he be there tomorrow, knowing what he did? Her thoughts overwhelmed her, she did not feel tired, and did not go to bed. Instead, she sat in the chair for hours, thinking, comforted by his scent that lingered in the air. At some point during the night, sleep overwhelmed her, and she slept there in the leather recliner.

---

Back in his room, Hannibal Lecter's mind raced. Could she possibly remember? If she did then why had she not called the police? If she could still not remember anything, then he could have possibly misjudged her condition and she would have been better off at a hospital. Something was going on in the mind of his little bird. The question that remained was, what, exactly, was it?

Hannibal sat on his bed, his mind swirling with possibilities, hopes and fears. He did not get much sleep that night, unbeknownst to him that Clarice also was in the same predicament. Hannibal lay in bed, wondering what he could do, to take the game to the next level. He wanted so much more. If his last moment on earth should be here,and now with Clarice, before he was recaptured, he wanted to at least dance with her and taste her lips once more, though he wanted her, to be willing and to want to kiss him in return. Why did he seem to have a leave of his senses, of all sense, just when he needed it most? Hannibal asked himself. More uncharted waters for him to explore. He usually had all the answers and could clearly see and sense everything way before many even had an inkling there was even a question or anything to see, so this was a new experience for him.

---

The next day, they did not see each other. Perhaps that was a good thing, room for thought, both had told themselves. The game they were playing was getting on each other's nerves, it was too much. Both wanted it to end, but neither of them knew how to end it, unsure of each other, unsure of the consequences. For what would really happen if a cannibal, a criminal, fell in love with an agent and vice versa? And finally, how could they move on from here? What if one wanted more and the other did not? If that were the case, the choices and decisions that would have to be made would be very difficult. Yet being apart seemed to hurt too much without there being some attempt, but both had a strong will and did not want to give in to their feelings, especially not knowing how the other felt.

Therefore, when they finally did meet for dinner, they both were filled with many conflicting thoughts and emotions. Hannibal Lecter did not comment on the beautiful gown Clarice wore, or how lovely the necklace com;imented her eyes. Clarice did not say anything about Dr. Lecter's outfit or the fine meal he prepared. They sat eating in a loud silence which spoke volumes. After dinner, Hannibal played the piano, and Clarice rested in a chair, watching and listening to him produce such beautiful music. Hannibal had so many layers and sides to him which always made things confusing for her.

Clarice could no longer control her needs, she wanted him. She wanted to touch him, feel how it was to be held by him... That one kiss he gave her years ago had overwhelmed her senses. Clarice was not aware, that she had risen from her seat, or that she was moving towards Hannibal. When, she reached his side, Hannibal did not stop playing, though he was curious to find out what would happen next. Clarice put her left hand on his shoulder, lingering before she turned to lean up against the piano, forcing Hannibal to stop playing. Clarice moved her hand down his arm, stopping at the bare skin of his hand. For a moment she did nothing, while they looked into each other's eyes. There was no hiding it any longer. They knew who they were, but for this moment in time, Hannibal had created a place where time and the outside world had no meaning. In this small place in the world, they could be whoever they wanted to be, which was just a man and a woman, insanely attracted to each other, for reasons neither could explain, nor cared to examine more closely.

Clarice took his hand, lifting it to her cheek. She inhaled his scent; the lotion that he used was intoxicating to her senses. Hannibal, enthralled in the moment, cupped her cheek. Clarice leaned into the touch, his warmth penetrating her. Hannibal stood up, drawing Clarice into his arms, holding her, like it was his dearest love he was clinging onto. "My dear, dear, Clarice," Hannibal spoke, his voice thick with emotion. She looked up into his eyes and she was drowning in the sea of sensations. Hannibal crushed her to him, lowering his lips to hers.

Clarice lost all sense of time, they could have been kissing for hours or mere minutes, she did not know, nor cared. Clarice had to feel more, almost frantically she attacked Hannibal's shirt, wanting it open. Hannibal stilled her hands by holding them to his chest. Clarice was trying to get her breathing under control, while confusion flooded her being. Why was her reaction to him so strong?

"Do you remember?" Hannibal asked, looking stern. Clarice did not answer. "Do. You. Remember?" he asked again. Clarice could not escape, even if she wanted to. It was game over, it was back to reality.

"Yes, I remember," she finally answered, her heart raced making her dizzy. She was in his control. On some level she was terrified; she hated not being in control.

"Good," he said and his mouth was on hers again. There was no beginning or end, they flowed together, like fate had always planned, they were one!

Somehow Clarice managed to say "I....I need more." It was so primal that she did not feel ashamed about saying it. It was the purest of human behavior, lust, want, maybe even love. Clarice no longer cared to explain her feelings, she was content feeling. Her thoughts were interrupted by Hannibal. "I want to make to love with you, Clarice."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Yes," was her answer, though it was carried on a soft sigh.

Hannibal lifted her up then, carryied her to the master bedroom, never once losing eye contact. It was finally happening, he got to have her, no matter if it was only for the briefest of moments, he would forever keep the memory of her in him, the feeling of her, her surrender was intoxicating to him and he would savour every drop of it.

They entered the bedroom, Hannibal let Clarice down and started kissing her again. His kisses traveled down her jawline, to her throat, where he could feel her pulse. All the while, his hands were working on her dress, till it finally lay in a pool on the floor, exposing Clarice's fair skin to him. He gazed upon her before he took her in his arms.

Clarice's hands sought his dinner jacket, pushing it off Hannibal's shoulders, his bow-tie was quickly gone before she worked on the buttons of his shirt. She let out a growl as she finally felt his bare skin against her palms. It was more than her body could take, that, combined with his demanding kisses, she felt her legs give in. Hannibal's strong arms caught her, lowering her onto the bed, covering her with his body.

Their lovemaking was gentle at first, their exploration like virgins yet with an ease that comes from years spent with one. Hannibal took pleasure in her body and her response to his touch. With each new area explored, Clarice was driven closer to the edge. The feel of Hannibal inside her, moving together in the most primal of dances, made her head spin.

Neither spoke afterwards, they lay beside each other staring up at the ceiling. Neither wanted to talk, because talk would bring them back to reality. Reality was grim, because reality told them both, that this could and would not last. In reality, they were on different sides of the law, how they felt was unimportant, because when it came down to the bottom line it was all about self-preservation. Hannibal knew, that Clarice was not ready to give up on the FBI, she still believed that she could save them, like the lambs they were. He could not stop himself from hoping that it would be different, because hope was all he had.

Clarice was in turmoil, her emotions were all over the place. Her heart wanted him, she wanted Dr. Hannibal Lecter more than anything else, but her mind, which always won in the end, knew it would never happen. They would have this, this break from reality, but that was all they were ever going to have, and her heart wept for her.

Hannibal sensed the fight inside Clarice, he drew her to him, her head resting on his shoulder. He spoke to calm her. "It is alright, Clarice," he paused, "This was meant to happen, our souls could never be whole if we did not let it happen." Clarice's breathing eased. "You see, Clarice, my soul, my heart will always belong to you, but you will never be free unless you are able to let go of your control. Emotions were never meant to be controlled," he turned his head and looked at her. "You opt to control your heart by listening to your mind first. I could never love you less for that, and for that reason we will never have more than brief interludes of time unless or until you are able to let go."

Clarice could swear he almost sounded sad. She wished she was someone else, that she could take her heart in her hand and give it freely. Instead of saying this, she said, "I love you..... I love you enough you to let you go." There was a pause before she continued, "I will always carry this.... " she thought about the past week as she said the next, "interlude in my heart." Hannibal kissed her forehead, then her lips before they again lost themselves in their lovemaking. Clarice fell asleep in Hannibal's arms, more happy then she had ever been.

---

When Clarice awoke the next morning, she was alone in bed. There was no sign of Hannibal, she knew there would not be. She found a note on the dressing table.

My dearest Clarice,

You will always hold my heart, as I always will hold yours.

Be not sad, for I am sure that in our game of hide and seek,

we will meet again, for that is our fate.

Yours,

Hannibal

Clarice put the note down smiling to herself. Yes, she was sure they would meet again.

Outside the mansion, life began anew, as Hannibal disappeared down the gravel road into the future that looked so much brighter, so much more fun, anticipating when they would meet again.

~Fini~


End file.
